Beyond the Pale: an Indian beauty editor on her life in make-up

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Make-up, skincare and haircare for different ethnicities is thankfully becoming less of a minority. In our new weekly column, Beyond the Pale, women from all ethnic backgrounds share their favourite beauty moments, insider tips and the products they swear by. First up is The Telegraph's beauty editor, Sonia Haria, on what sparked her obsession with beauty.

There are two skills that I was taught at a young age by my Punjabi mother and grandmothers. The first: how to plait expertly my long, jet-black hair in less than a minute; the second (although admittedly a little later): how to apply glossy black eyeliner with such ease that after a couple of attempts I knew where to start, where to thicken and where to flick. It was the maquillage equivalent of riding a bike, so that soon enough I just knew.

Until the age of seven I lived with my family and paternal grandparents in west London. My late grandmother, always smartly dressed in an embroidered Punjabi outfit and with perfectly groomed hair and a beautifully made-up face, would sit me out in the garden on sunny summer afternoons.

Bright clothes would swing joyfully on the washing-line, and I would help her pick out the bad lentils from hundreds on a steel plate, ready for that evening's dinner. Not the most exciting task, but I loved it, because my grandmother would spill her secrets about the correct technique for a neat fish-plait.

One of Sonia's first attempts to apply lipstick - for a fancy dress party

On winter days I would sneak up to her bedroom - or boudoir, rather - to marvel at the gold-topped scent bottles from India, powder puffs and jewellery boxes. Her three staple items - Oil of Ulay (as it was then), Ponds Cold Cream and Nivea hand cream - were within easy reach, along with countless pots of lipsticks and liners.

It wasn't until I was in my teens that I began to wear make-up, and with everything I had picked up as a child I felt I had the know-how not only to apply it but to make it, too. I know, I know, somewhat ambitious. But I pulled it off, successfully mixing my own tinted moisturiser (one part Rimmel liquid concealer, two parts Mum's Ulay), as well as blusher from Vaseline and a Revlon lipstick.

With another blob of Vaseline I also tried to give my unthreaded, bushy Indian eyebrows some definition. All this was a mere warm-up, however, to the main event: The Eyeliner, which I'd run carefully along the lash-line with a tiny flick at the end. I would sit back to admire my handiwork while it dried.

None of this geeky practice has been in vain, thankfully. It has certainly stood me in good stead for my job as a beauty editor. Though of course it's barely there make-up that is generally held up as the beauty ideal in my working life, rather than the Indian more-is-more attitude, with its insistence on lipstick, eyeshadow, fake lashes, sculpted cheeks and thick eyeliner. Not forgetting the bindi.

It's all about an explosion of colour: the "eyes or lips" rule is laughed at. And that's before you've even got to the "updo", a mammoth task that requires at least 30 minutes to execute, gallons of Elnett and all the Goody hair grips that you can lay your hands on.

I got married in 2014, and although my husband and I had an intimate Indian wedding (about 300 guests), we still had a week-long celebration with lots of beautiful ceremonies. Beauty touches its delicately manicured hand on almost every part of an Indian marriage.

Sonia on her wedding day

A couple of days before the wedding I had a maiyaa, a traditional ceremony where a mix of flour, oil and turmeric was applied to my face and body by my sisters, in a bid to make my skin glow for the wedding day. I think it worked - that, plus the tonnes of highlighter on my visage.

I also had a mendhi evening, during which my mum, sisters and I had our hands and feet covered in intricate henna designs, as well as manicures and threading. And finally on my wedding day (which involved two hair and make-up changes) I took with me a trousseau full of fresh, unopened make-up, ready to begin my marital life. It's a tradition that dates back hundreds of years.

We even had an official Indian engagement ceremony that took place a few months before the wedding. In this, my husband's female relatives "transformed" me into a bride. I arrived to the ceremony bare-faced (well, almost) and by the end of the ceremony they had applied red lipstick (a colour traditionally saved for brides), eyeliner and mascara.

From my first attempt at a fish-plait and perfectly lined eyes, I had unknowingly begun my rite of passage in Indian beauty, a path that generations of women in my family had already taken. I wouldn't change it for the world.